


You want him.

by Lispet



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: FTM Dave, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lispet/pseuds/Lispet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignore this. Self indulgent rambling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You want him.

Karkat is a nervous wreck, a disaster. You don't even know if you're friends with him. You want to be. You want to be his friend and you want him to want you. Sometimes you want to get drunk, so you don't feel like this. So you can vomit up your emotions and your stupid infatuation and you swore off crying over boys when you were fourteen and getting fucked by someone who didn't care about you, wishing for him to just finish already, Jesus. 

He doesn't like alcohol. So you don't. 

You want to just be around him, learn everything, his tiny little habits, the things he needs to do to feel safe, you want to make him feel safe. 

His hair feels like silk between your fingers, and sometimes. Sometimes it's okay. 

Mostly it's not. 

You're second place, the tarnished silver trophy. He's got people he wants more than you. You know, you've tried. 

Hey Karkat are you busy this weekend? Hey Karkat there's a new movie coming out do you want to go see it? Hey Karkat I'm not actually sending this message because that's totally lame and I feel like I'm pushing for too much but I just want to spend time with you alone because I like you and I never get the chance to. Ever. I've never been alone with you for more than three minutes at a time. And I think I deserve to. That's really selfish. And I'm going to delete this now. Hey Karkat I could write an entire fucking novel about you and I don't think you'd ever read it because I don't think you care about me in the slightest. My best friend, your best friend said that you think were friends, but not really close. And it hurt. A lot. 

You're totally not crying over him. 

You listen to new music to learn more about him. Maybe if you know what he likes, why he likes it, he might like you more. That's stupid. You know he won't. 

You never get anything nice. You can forget having a relationship or even a date on a Saturday night. No one likes you that much. You know. You've asked. You've tried. Sorry Dave I don't see you that way. Sorry Dave I don't think it would work. Sorry Dave you're kind of fat and no one wants to date a guy without a dick. 

He calls you and you get hopeful for a second, but he just wants to organise details of a group thing next week. He should've texted you. 

You trawl through his blog when you get bored. Go over his tags and read all the posts. He is single. He has a crush on someone. You think. He's as desperate for attention and affection as you are. It would be foolish to think he likes you. You're not that naive and stupid. There's a tag that makes your chest ache, the posts. Kiss my neck and pull my hair. Tagged, hahaha yeah I'm so fucking desperate I'm a piece of trash. Post. I want the little things in relationships. The three am talks, holding hands, destroying their ass at Mario Kart. Tagged, yeah, me. 

You're not crying. 

Things don't interest you. He shouldn't interest you. He does. You feel sick. You're constantly aching, teeth chattering, bones creaking like ancient sentinels to a desecrated shipyard. Nothing lives in your heart, even when you give it water and shit and light. It's always nipped in the bud by a regretful smile and you don't need to hear this anymore you know the script. Maybe the script with him will be different. Maybe if he wanted to direct it. He won't. You could do the math. It's statistically significant. No one wants to have anything to do with you, least of all Karkat, the one person you genuinely want to try this with. 

You want to be his friend. You want to know all of him and know he likes you, even half as much as you like him. Just some sort of recognition. You don't want to pester him and try all the time. Maybe you'll throw up anyway. It feels like you might. 

You'd ask him out if you ever got five minutes alone, because you're sick of not knowing. You can feel every heartbeat in your throat and it's tight and hot and your face is beyond wet. You know what you'd say, too. Sort of. Hey Karkat, I've been sitting on this one for a while like some stupid chicken that spends more time worrying about plucking it's feather out than the fucking egg. Nervous pause. Drop your fucking cue cards because you're a clumsy shit. Uh, yeah so I've been thinking for a while. I like you. A lot. And I really want to spend a lot of time alone with you. Wow this sounds lame. You can't give up there it's too far in. So yeah do you want to go get coffee or tea with me sometime? 

Ideally, he'd smile at your nervous stupidity and agree. 

Fortune doesn't favour you when you're stupid and nervous. Fortune doesn't favour you period. 

Karkat probably doesn't favour you either, but wishful thinking doesn't hurt as much as actually seeing that familiar smile on his face when he apologises and tells you he doesn't like you. 

So you're never going to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> You swore you wouldn't write poetry about him. But you did.


End file.
